The Vase
by bismuthpolonium
Summary: A slowly breaking vase finally shatters. Yes, it is as ridiculously angsty as it sounds. LJ oneshot


_A/N: A night of boredom and introspection spawns many things. Angsty fanfiction is one of them. It is perhaps the most constructive of them, too. Though I don't know that fanfiction can be considered terribly constructive anyway..._

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, but it's likely that you don't either. So I won't tell if you don't..._

_I'm a vase, and nobody sees it._

This cannot be happening to me. These are not thoughts that belong in my head. I care about classes, schoolwork, my friends… I don't have time to waste obsessing over some boy.

Well, that's not strictly true. I mean, yes, I care about schoolwork and my friends, but not to the absolute exclusion of everything else. I care so deeply about everything; I'm overly passionate. Some would call it fiery; the natural tendency of a redhead. But nobody calls it that.

They don't have a chance to. Nobody ever sees it to call it anything. I have an outside and an inside, just like a vase, and, like a vase, nobody thinks to look at anything but the outside. I hide most of my thoughts, my inside, behind my outward caring for my friends, for my homework. If I throw myself into that hard enough, maybe, just maybe, I'll run out of time to care about anything else. Especially the bad things.

I mean, not that anything is really that bad. Sure, most of my roommates hate me. My family does too, come to that. Especially my sister... Sure, I'm swamped with my schoolwork. It's NEWTs in less than six weeks, after all. That would (or should) make anyone panic. Sure, I'm supposed to be figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. It's seventh year; I should have known two years ago. But I can't pick just one thing; my interests and abilities lie in too diverse of fields. Of course, I can't complain about that. Nobody has any sympathy for a person who complains about having too many opportunities in front of them. Nobody realizes that being told you can do everything is just as smothering as being told you can't do anything. So I don't complain; I mash the fear that I'll waste my life, trying to do too much and accomplishing nothing, down with all of my other secret fears, of family and grades, and the happiness of people around me, and put on a happy face.

_I'm a vase spiderwebbed with cracks, and nobody sees it._

It's funny how nobody notices that my smiles never reach my eyes. People might ask me how I am, by way of greeting, but I'm always "Fine; how are you?", no matter how good or bad my day may be. It's a lie, every time. But nobody cares to hear the real answer, so why burden them unnecessarily? I mean, their happiness is more important than mine, anyway.

And so it is, my life at Hogwarts has been little more than an exercise in patience, and training in learning how to act well. I'm quite proud, sometimes, that there is only one person in the entire castle who knows that the person I seem to be is just a character. Happy go lucky Lily Evans, Head Girl, top of her class, so many opportunities available to her, everybody's friend… Bullshit. And Alice, my only real friend since first year, she knows it's an act. Every once in a while, she'll snap me out of it; ask me questions two or three times to get a real answer out of me. But that reality doesn't last; can't last. I've been playing the character too long, and people need this character… the supporter, the fixer of problems… people need that stability around. Alice has her problems, too; she can't spend the rest of her life opening me up, not when she needs my character too. So we both pretend my character is real, and she, just like everybody else, doesn't see me breaking.

Especially not since she and Frank got engaged. Throughout our time at Hogwarts, I've given up many nights' sleep to listen to Alice rant about her family; how they don't really care for her, how they really don't like her boyfriend, Frank, and how she's afraid to go home at breaks, because of what might happen. And as long as she needed me to listen, I had a purpose to my existence. She needed someone to go to; I needed someone else's problems to focus on.

Well, she doesn't need someone to go to now; she has Frank, and will forever. And I'm trying, really trying to be happy for her. She deserves it, after all. She deserves some happiness after so many years of suffering. And I want to be happy for her. But I can't. I can't help but be selfish and think about what this means for me. Because she has Frank, she doesn't need me anymore. Because she doesn't need me, I no longer have my convenient reason to exist. Put that on top of my roommates, my workload, and my future, and I feel like I'm breaking apart.

_I'm a vase spiderwebbed with cracks, waiting for the one last touch that will completely shatter me, and nobody sees it._

And I want to talk to somebody, anybody, but I can't; I don't have anybody. And that's not who I am, anyway. I'm the calm, collected stability that exists for others, for schoolwork. And so these dark emotions are pushed down, out of sight, out of mind… for everyone else, anyway. And that's what matters.

And all that was fine. Until this…boy came into the picture. I am NOT supposed to get boy-obsessed. For one, that would be an emotion, which is something I am not entitled to. Secondly, I don't have the time to like some boy. I have NEWTs to prepare for. I have Head duties to attend to. I don't sleep as it is. Thirdly, this boy is not mine to like. He is the most popular guy in Hogwarts, James is, and even if I could like him, there is no chance in hell that he'd like me too.

Sure, everybody says he likes me. I may not talk to people often, but that doesn't mean I don't listen. Everybody says he's been single for so long because he likes me. But he acts like such a royal prick whenever I'm around that I just can't believe them. So I keep pushing it down, saying that if it's meant to happen, he'll find me. Otherwise, I can't risk the rejection, couldn't handle it at this point. It's been ages since I could look at anything sharp and not wish I could just pick it up and make myself bleed. I don't want to die, mind you, just bleed, just feel…

Which brings me to where I am tonight. It's 3am on an unseasonably cold night, and I'm alone, at my typical table in a shadowy corner of the common room, books and parchment spread all over, trying and failing to get my mind focused on my schoolwork. Nothing unusual about it. Unfortunately, James just won't stay out of my head. (Also, as of recently, not unusual.) It's not his fault, of course; he and everybody else went to bed hours ago. I swear I thought I saw him give me a lingering, worried glance before he ascended the boys' stairs, but that must have been in my head. Sighing softly, I abandon all pretense of doing my schoolwork and stare blankly around the common room. Despite having been a part of the magical world for seven years now, I still see new things all over this castle. It never ceases to amaze me. As my gaze wanders around the common room, I see the firelight catch on something shiny, silvery, on the floor near the hearth of the fireplace. Why would there be a knife on the floor in the common room? I walk over and pick it up; it's a knife from a beginning potions kit; one of the first years must have dropped it. I take it back to my table and set it down, making a mental note to ask around in the morning.

_I'm a vase spiderwebbed with cracks, waiting for the one last touch that will completely shatter me; teetering above the cold, stone floor, and nobody sees it._

Sitting back in my lonely chair, I find my mind drifting back to the look James gave me tonight… But no, that must have been in my head. He couldn't, wouldn't, actually notice me existence, much less genuinely be concerned for me. I'm subconsciously fingering the blade on the knife that has somehow made its way back into my hands. I look around, the common room is truly deserted. The temptation is too great, and I begin, almost without thinking, to outline the cracks that I know are there, the cracks that everybody refuses to see. I cut deeper and deeper, until the blood turns from drips to a trickle to rivulets in an all-out flow… As the knife poises itself above my wrist, I hear footsteps behind me. I lower the knife quickly, to avoid feeling the shame of being caught like this, so weak.

"Lily?"

The voice stops me cold, it's the damned voice that simultaneously terrifies and thrills my subconscious. I spin around in my seat to face him, and the knife clatters to the floor. But the shock and the blood loss combine with the sudden movement, and I only briefly see his face, pale with worry, for a second before my vision goes fuzzy and I find myself falling.

_I'm a vase spiderwebbed with cracks, waiting for the one last touch that will completely shatter me; teetering above the cold, stone floor, rushing toward it… and nobody sees it._

I never fully lose consciousness, I can still hear the panicked footsteps rushing toward me, stopping just before I hit the floor… Only I don't hit it. A pair of strong, safe arms catches me. "Oh, gods, Lily…" He sounds so upset as he lowers us both to the floor. I'm too weak; I can't stay hidden in myself anymore. I grope at the front of his robes in a haze of semi-consciousness, looking for some stability outside of myself as I start to sob. I bury my face in his robes, and through my sobs I pour out my soul, telling him everything in a rush of incomprehensible speech. Whether he understands or not, I don't know. But then I realize I must be getting blood and tears all over his robes, and try to pull back from him.

_I'm a vase lying shattered on the cold stone floor…_

He won't let me pull away. He doesn't seem to care about the state of his robes; he just holds me tightly, whispering soothing words into my ear. As I begin to relax, he pulls out his wand and begins working some healing spells on my arms, while somehow never breaking contact with me. Once I've stopped bleeding, he draws me more fully back into his arms. We sit together on the common room floor, and I feel the events of the night overtaking me. I long to talk to James, to figure out exactly what this means, to apologize for his robes, to explain everything in coherent speech, or to put my facade back on and remove myself from the situation altogether before something bad happens. But I can't do any of those things, I can barely move between the sudden heaviness of sleep in my limbs and the protective hold James has on me. He seems to sense my unease, and says "Go to sleep, love. I'll be here in the morning." It's the last thing I hear as sleep finally overtakes me.

_I'm a vase lying shattered on the cold stone floor… but somebody sees it. And somebody cares. And somebody is going to try to put me back together._

_Liked it? Hated it? Let me know either way; it's my first attempt at romantic writing ever (if this can be called romantic)... and my second shot at fanfiction ever. So I could definitely use the guidance._


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